Harry Potter and the Death Eater's Quest
by lyrajane
Summary: My Book Seven. Some big changes made. Bad summary, good story
1. Chapter One: At First Light

_Snape. Severus Snape. Severus. Snape. Snape._

The name, that same damn name, would not leave him in peace, and tonight, like each night before it since he had arrived back at what he had long considered an out and out hell hole full of hellish people (that just happened to be his so called family) with their hellish ways, he had long given up any ideas of sleep.

The Dursleys, these days however, were the least of his worries, It almost pained him to admit even to himself that he secretly longed for the days when Vernon, Petunia and Dudley were at the top of the invisible list of pressing matters that existed in Harry's mind. Today, and for the foreseeable future, that position had been well and truly filled my more urgent of troubles, the fate of the magical and Muggle worlds to name but the most major. And Snape, Severus Snape, would not leave Harry's tired, aching mind at bay.

Again and again his dreams, the ones that he dreamt on the rare occasion that he did indeed sleep of late, showed him over and over his Headmaster being blasted back, then falling, falling for what could have been forever, over the battlements and out of sight, out of life, blasted, _murdered_ by Harry's old potions master, whom he had always despised, always believed capable or unspeakable evil, but to see it, to see it unfold there a real before him had been something else.

Slimy, vile cretin. Snape. Severus Snape.

Seized by a renewed bout of frustration at his lack of ability to drift into slumber, Harry tore back the covers that were falling loosely over his body, and sat up, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he did so.

Almost seventeen years old, Harry was looking his age these days. He was still, as he had always been, rather slight, his build had filled out as much as could be expected to suit his bone structure, his ever-irksome hair stood up at odd angles, unaided by the fact that he had for the past two hours being laying on it in various positions, creating several interesting angles on one head. His chin, for only the second summer in a row now, sported a slight six o clock shadow… when had been the last time he had shaved? His eyes were tired; the emerald green dull in the only light that entered in room, through the open window from the lamp-lit street below him.

Harry raised a hand to his fringe, and sighed. Every year, there was something. This year, it was so much worse.

Getting up reluctantly from where he sat, and making his way over to his desk, Harry fumbled in the semi-darkness for his wand, before remembering with an extremely annoyed grunt that he was still an underage wizard for three more days.

"Bloody Ministry,"he muttered distracted under his breath, resigning himself to the Muggle way of dealing with an absence of light in a dark room and flicking on his desk lamp. The glare stung his eyes, and he closed them briefly, allowing them to adjust behind his eyelids. Opening them tentatively, he almost fell over backwards in shock as two large amber eyes started back at him dolefully.

"Hedwig," he breathed, comprehension dawning, as he took a small step back from where her cage swung on its hook before him. Composing himself, Harry checked his alarm clock. It that told him it was 3:30am. He sighed in frustration, and made to turn back to his now unmade bed, when a small, rectangular photograph caught his attention, and he paused briefly to pick it up.

A girl of around sixteen sat under a large oak tree arms around a boy, himself, his glasses in her right hand, and his hand in her other. Harry had almost forgotten that this picture had been taken, and had certainly not seen it before, having only developed the film at Diagon Ally on a whim, when the Dursleys had been late on collecting him from Kings Cross last week.

The sight of it, himself and Ginny there, happy and smiling and… brought a strong, old emotion to the surface, one that had been hiding somewhere between his heart and his navel ever since he had walked away from Ginny Weasley back at Hogwarts only a week and a day ago… one that he did not dare let himself normally feel, for fear that it would over take him. Pain, pure and raw and real, coupled with an equal dose of anger at the state of things… he could not let himself feel that, not now there were things to be done.

With a great effort, Harry strode across the room, threw open his trunk, and pulled out the large leather bound photograph album that Hagrid had given him all those years ago, in which numerous smiling and waving pictures of his father, mother and himself (all of one years old) inhabited. Placing the picture inside it, Harry slammed the book shut and put it back at the very bottom of his trunk, closing the lid, and turning away. He could not afford to think about this now. In less than three hours, he had to leave this place.

Harry had already made up his mind. He was not staying here a moment longer than was necessary. This summer, he was not going to sit around in Dudley second bedroom, waiting and hoping that someone, anyone from the world to which he belonged might come and get him. He had it covered.

He was leaving.

At first light.

--------------------

He was not sure how it happened, but Harry found himself waking from actual sleep that morning, when first light actually reared its head. It was not a very dignified one, but it was sleep, in a fashion; half of him had managed to hit the bed, the other had given up and merely sprawling out on the floor.

Groggily, coming round to the mechanical sound of the alarm clock he had set the evening before, Harry rubbed his eyes, devoid of his glasses, which, he thought then, might not be helping his lack of clarity vision-wise.

Stumbling towards his desk he seized his glasses and put them on, suddenly wide awake and overcome with a sense of purpose.

Books. Probably the most important thing he would need on his travels (besides his wits and his wand) though he was sure Hermione Granger would have that in hand, it wouldn't hurt to be prepared. What else? 

Scrambling around in his desk draws, he located and consulted a list he had drawn up the night before, to ensue a swift exit.

Next on the list was: Hedwig. 

He laughed. He must really have been tired last night if he thought that such an obvious and (if neglected) loud and vicious creature would escape his notice before he departed.

Ignoring the list then, Harry set about packing all his possessions, by hand, into his trunk. 

Ten minutes later he was at the bedroom door, content he had everything, and ready to leave his room for what, all being well, would be the last ever time.

Strangely, even shockingly, Harry found himself feeling oddly emotional. It was not, by any means, the life he had had here he would miss, nor the room itself. It wasn't even what it could have been, if things have been different, if his Aunt and Uncle had wanted him. It wasn't any of these things. It was the thought of what was to come, the thought of something better, the end of an era right here.

Smiling mildly, a real smile in what felt like the first time in years, Harry edged out of the room, Hedwig in one hand and dragging his trunk with the other, cursing the fact that he was still unable by law to perform something as trivial as a hover charm to help the operation go more smoothly and quietly. He had no intention of bumping into the Dursleys on his way out, and the thought of stopping by their respective rooms to say a heartfelt farewell was laughable.

Holding his breath as he went, Harry dragged his trunk to the top of the stairs, set it down as gently as he could, then, with Hedwig, crept down the stairs, expertly skipping the creaky one, and placed her on the coffee table in the downstairs landing.

It was as he made his silent way back upstairs that he heard groggy, sleepy grunting, followed by heavy footsteps above him.

Vernon Dursley, not the most observant of beings at the best of times, let alone at 6:30 in the morning, did not see Harry's trunk, Harry, or anything out of the ordinary as he made his way the bathroom. He did, however, feel it, as a moment later there was a bellowing cry, and Harry had to flatten himself against the banister as his Uncle came hurtling past him down the stairs.

As a great deal of dust settled, and there was silence. Harry squeezed his eyes tight shut; partly with some concern for his Uncle's safety, indeed, his life, and party, because, (as was more likely) if he was in tact, Harry was in for it.

He waited with baited breath, as the seconds past. Then –

"BOY!"

"Vernon! Vernon! What's the matter Vernon!"

"Mum! What's all the noise? Dad?"

Aunt Petunia and Dudley's faces appeared at the upstairs banister, Dudley's accompanied by a podgy hand rubbing his podgy face, Petunia's palm at her forehead, her long neck extended, pale and anxious.

Harry gulped. This was not at all how he had wanted to make his escape. Vernon Dursley was on his feet, sporting a cut above one eye, but otherwise, quite unharmed, his large face it's favourite purple shade, veins throbbing in his thick neck.

"I didn't mean for you to fall down," Harry said quickly, an old hand at dealing with the a mad sixteen stone man, though he knew his excuses were pointless as he planned on staying under Number Four's roof for precisely sixty more seconds only. "I was just leaving."

Uncle Vernon let out a long breath.

"Didn't mean it? DIDN'T MEAN IT? YOU NEVER_ MEAN_ ANYTHING, DO YOU BOY! I BET YOU DIDN'T _MEAN_ TO BE DUMPED ON OUR DOORSTEP, DIDN'T _MEAN_ TO BE SO BLATANLY ABNORMAL, DIDN'T_ MEAN_ TO BLOW UP MARGE, OR _MEAN_ TO HAVE YOUR FREAK FRIENDS DESTROY HALF OUR LIVING ROOM, AND DIDN'T _MEAN _NEARLY KILL ME AND-"

He stopped dead.

"Leaving you say?" he said suddenly, it quite a different tone, his expression disbelieving. "Did I hear right, boy?" It seemed he did not dare let himself believe it quite yet. "Leaving? Here? Now? As in the house? For _good_?"

"Yes," said Harry, simply.

It was quite miraculous. The purple tone of his skin vanished instantly, and he was normal coloured again, normal coloured, and grinning from ear to ear, like someone had just announced the his lawn had won the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition for real. He clapped his beefy hands together suddenly, like an excited businessman.

"Did you hear that, Petunia, did you _hear_ that? Leaving he is! _Now!_"

He turned to Dudley. "Don't just _stand_ there, Dudders m'boy, get that tru- that, that thing, get it down here! Quick sharp now!

Dudley's fat, tired face suddenly turned sour. "Why do _I_ have to do it?"

"Just do as you told!" barked Uncle Vernon, making Harry, Dudley and Petunia jump.

With much whining and complaining, Dudley waddled up to Harry's trunk, and fixing him with a stare that told Harry without words that, were he not making a swift exit now, he would be used as Dudley's personal dartboard for at least a month, heaved Harry's belongings down the stairs, as Harry fought with all the strength in him not to laugh at the sight; Dudley's fat bottom up in the air as he worked, pausing on every step for a rest.

Not quite knowing what to do with herself, Aunt Petunia hovered, dithering at the top of the landing for a few moments, before flitting down the stairs behind Dudley to stand at Vernon's side.

Dudley's task accomplished, Uncle Vernon swelled with happiness as he looked Harry up and down for what he blissfully knew would be the final time. Then he threw out an arm from nowhere, unhooking the door keys from their position my the hat stand, and still grinning horribly at Harry, thrust a brass one into the door and turned. Wrenching it open, he held out his arm like some travesty of a doorman.

"Off you go then, boy. So long and all that. Don't bother to write."

Extremely pleased to get off so lightly, Harry seized Hedwig, and with his free hand, dragged his trunk the final two meters to the doorway.

A small squeak came from somewhere above him, and he paused, looking up. What he saw almost made him wish he hadn't. Aunt Petunia was looking down on his, her thin face too close to him for his liking, her large eyes wide, lips slightly trembling. Beside her, both Uncle Vernon and Dudley were ogling at her, agog.

"P-P-Petunia darling… darling, surely, you're not… not going to get upset. The… the boy's leaving, its… what we've been waiting for all these damn years!"

Aunt Petunia started at his words, like a burglar caught in the act. Even so, as Harry wrenched his trunk onto the doorstep, he felt a bony hand grasp his shoulder.

"Goodbye," she whispered, in a voice so small he could hardly hear it "A-and good luck."

Harry opened his mouth, though he felt too dazed to offer any kind of reply. Before he could do any such thing however, Aunt Petunia straightened up, and said loudly "On your way then, boy, and quick sharp! Out of the hall now, there's a draft you know."

Uncle Vernon's face slipped back into its self-satisfied mode at her words, and Harry felt suddenly relieved that she had gathered herself together – after almost seventeen years of never showing Harry the slightest hint of affection, such a sudden display was quite alarming.

Not needing to be told twice, Harry gave one final heave, and his trunk slid out onto the doorstep. 

Clapping his hands together again, Uncle Vernon took his time savouring the act of finally closing the door on this nuisance.

Harry took one last look at them all framed there in the doorway; Dudley looking hugely fat and happy, like a very large cat that finally had all the cream to itself; Uncle Vernon, grinning manically, his hand on the doorknob, but most poignantly Aunt Petunia, her arm around her husband, staring straight at him, a look in her eyes Harry had only ever seem her show Dudley before, and as the Uncle Vernon stopped enjoying the moment and finally shoved the door closed, Harry was almost certain he saw her raise her free hand in a feeble, but definite, wave.

Alone then in gaining light Harry took a moment to clear his now confused head, as he surveyed the street around him. He was free. At last, He was leaving Privet Drive, and never coming back. It was all he could do the stop himself doing a little jig.

Pushing that thought firmly from his mind, Harry forced himself to focus. What now? Broom, broom, yes, he needed his broom.

Bending over, he unhooked the clasp on his trunk. He had just lifted the lid when a loud crack wrought the air, making him jump and almost fall over, followed almost instantly by a hissing, shrill voice he recognised only too well.

"Harry, for _heavens sake!_ Don't you ever _listen_?"


	2. Chapter Two: A Friend Indeed

Turning about him for the source of the noise, Harry saw nothing but the pale street, same large square houses, same tarmac road, same everything.

The voice, he was sure of it, had come from somewhere behind him, from the shrubbery that lined the curb, but all he could see was that, shrubbery, and the odd bird scavenging for non-existent early morning worms. He was sure he'd heard her, he knew he had. Either that, or had had, finally, due to years and years of madness, gone completely insane.

A moment later, however, Harry caught sight of a flash of red among the green, then, with what looked like great difficulty, a cloaked arm emerged from the nearest bush, (a startling sight indeed if you, unlike Harry, had no clue to how it was happening) followed by a red haired head and torso. It shook itself, scattering leaves all over the curb, swore crossly. Being concealed inside a bush evidently did not agree with Ronald Weasley.

More hissed scolds followed, as Ron pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, and taking the third arm, that was hanging hopefully and a tad impatiently in mid air from the bush, pulled it, to reveal a girl with thick bushy brown hair and eyes to match, pale, slim and short, looking very harassed.

Both of them brushed themselves off, straightening their clothing (in the boy's case robes, and in the girl's a long coat over jeans and trainers) and beamed at Harry, and the boy, Ron, began to say "Harry mate, long time no see, all of a week this time, innit-" before the girl tutted, and cut him off in mid sentence, striding over to Harry with a mixture of annoyance and happiness of her face.

Harry had seen this look before in his best friend, it was evident she did not know whether to scold or hug him, and would, eventually settle on doing something of a mixture of the two. Sure enough a second later, in response to Harry's amused smirk, Hermione threw her arms around his neck, whilst hissing into this left ear "What an _earth_ are you doing out her _on your own_, surely you weren't going to _fly_ to The Burrow?"

She left go of him a moment later, inspecting him critically. Harry exchanged a slightly exasperated, but pleased look with Ron, before replying, "Well, that was the general idea, yes."

"Hermione, he's a big boy," said Ron nonchalantly, picking leaves from his robes with a disgusted expression on his freckly face. "He can do what he likes now, remember?"

"Not for another three days he can't!" Hermione shot back, holding Harry at arms length and inspecting him, like an overbearing grandmother.

"All right mate?" Ron said, striding over to Harry and pulling him purposefully from Hermione's grasp.

Harry grinned at him at them both. Putting aside their reasons for being her for that moment, he was just glad to see them, both of them there.

"Great thanks, great," Harry replied dazedly, as Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron, evidently annoyed at Ron's lack of concern for the seriousness of Harry's crime, which, indeed Harry was not quite sure existed.

"We off then," said Ron airily to Hermione, glancing around the street, checking for nosy neighbours and early morning passers by.

Hermione did not look impressed. Ignoring Ron, she turned back to Harry, and rounded on him.

"Harry, you do realise how _dangerous_ it is, you waltzing around in broad daylight when _Voldermort_," Ron gave a little yelp at the name which she ignored also, "is after your hide. For _goodness sake_ Harry, couldn't you have just _stayed put_? Did you really think we'd _leave_ you there?"

"Well, judging from past experience, I'd say I wasn't that far of the mark with that thought, wouldn't you?" Harry retorted, slightly more coldly that he'd intended.

Hermione turned slightly pink.

"Hermione, can't you wait till we get back to rant at him, we're just exposing ourselves for longer stood here like a bunch of twits," said Ron testily, as he caught sight of an old lady, slipped and carrying two plastic shopping bag, filled with what looked suspiciously like cat food at her sides, her dressing gown flapping about her ankles. "Old lady at three o'clock," he added, suddenly panicked.

Harry followed his gaze, feeling his own heart begin to race, it only just occurring to him now, that Hermione, annoying though it may be, was, as always, right. He had not given much thought to his safely when he had planned his getaway. Voldermort could be anywhere, even here, in Little Whinging, just waiting for him to step out of the house, just waiting for his chance. How could he have been so stupid? He had not thought it though at all.

He relaxed however, when his eyes fell on the intruder. It was Arabella Figg, his slightly insane, cat loving neighbour, a squib, but, most importantly, a friend.

"It's alright," Harry said in relief to the other two, "It's just Mrs Figg, it's-"

Ron and Hermione, however, were not listening; they both had their wands out and raised, pointing them directly at the old lady, who was not only a few meters away from them, and for her part, did not seem to see them all stood their, Harry with his trunk and his owl, Ron in his battered robes and Hermione, hair flying everywhere in even this slight breeze, face set and ready.

"W-what are you doing?" Harry said, almost aghast, to the other two. It's alright, she's on our side, she works - worked," (it pained Harry to have to use Dumbledore's name in the past tense) "for Dumbledore, she's-"

But Harry's words faulted as he noticed that, now merely feet from them, Arabella Figg was not looking at then, indeed she, were not really looking at anything, her face to the floor, he movements jerky and unfluid. And too, Harry noticed at this distance, an odd stench hung about her, like something rotting, like something old that had been left in a cupboard too long and had gone off. Something was seriously amiss.

Frantically, Harry thrust his and into his pocket and too, brandished his wand at the woman, who had now completely stopped moving, her head bowed still. It was eerie, frightening, her just stood there, and the three young magicians exchanged frightened looks before swiftly returning their gaze to the would-be threat, afraid to starve it of attention for even the briefest moment.

Silence, a chilling silence. Harry's breath was suddenly very shallow, his every sense focused on the woman in front of him. He could hear Hermione's rapid breathing beside him, and Ron, who seemed to be holding his breath, swallow, his wand hand steady.

Mrs Figg, slowly, so slowly that she might not have been moving at all, raised her head, that appeared to be set, as she moved it became clear, at and odd angle on her shoulders. And then she was facing then, and the trio stepped back, horrified, as one, at what looked back.

The eye sockets were hollow, deep and dark, containing nothing, and skin, rotten skin, stinking, grey and putrid. The hair was still in tact, covered by what might have been a hairnet; it was hard to tell as it was disjointed and torn, set atop the head, angled so oddly.

The thing cocked his deathly head sideways, as though still attempting to see them with eyes that had long since been removed, and a withered, rotting hand stretched out towards Harry, grabbing at thin air and obtaining nothing.

"Harry, we have to leave now!" came Ron's terrified voice, and it was then that Harry realised she was no longer at his side, and neither was Hermione, but facing away from him, wands outstretched, pointing directly at figures, cloaked, looming; Harry did not know or care if these new foes were inferi also.

Memories of the cave flooded back to him, as his mind worked frantically for the spell he needed. As far as he was concerned, this qualified as a life threatening situation, and as the inferi-Mrs Figg made another, swifter grab for him, Harry threw the underage wizard law to the winds along with caution and fired fire itself at the corpse, closing his eyes against the sight as he did so.

There was no scream, so anything, just the unbearable smell of burning, dead flesh. Opening his eyes reluctantly, Harry saw small fires had erupted all about his as Ron and Hermione fired the same spell at the cloaked figures.

More were coming down, from the right and left, up and down the street, tens of them, some cloaked, some dressed quire normally, some missing limbs, heads even, and Harry, feeling extremely sick, fired more fire at the nearest to him, the corpse of a woman, still fully in tact, no older than twenty, her eyes still very much in their sockets and staring him out as her torso went up in flames.

Unnoticed by any of them, curtains belonging to surrounding houses began to twitch them open, and cries so loud that of it were not for the noise taking place on the street, would have echoed across it, but it was lost in the commotion.

"What did I tell you Harry!" shrieked Hermione as she fired spells at a hugely fat corpse of a man over her shoulder that was inches from her.

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, is this the time to lecture?" bellowed Ron, caught off his guard by an inferi that had crept up on his at his left as he desperately fought one to his right; Hermione shot it with a jet of flame a moment later, her eyes round and petrified.

"Time to Apparate you think?" Ron added in a yell, shooting flames in every direction, narrowly missing Harry's head, as he ducked not a moment too soon.

"We can't just _leave!_" Hermione shrieked, jumping as an inferi at her feet made a grab for her ankle, and blasting it with flames, "What about all these people? The Muggles?"

"These things are after Harry!" Ron shouted back, shooting two inferi at once as the made a lunge for his neck, "Once we clear off, so will they!"

"Right," agreed Hermione, flattening herself against the wall of number six and a blind inferi stumbled past her, igniting it with a wave of her wand. "Right, we just need to get some space so we can all hold onto each other and-

CRACK!

"What the bloody hell-"

Despite themselves, the trio stared around, searching manically for the source of the noise. A man, tall, with brown hair, greying and thinning ever so slightly was charging towards then, his wand outstretched, robes more battered and shabby that Ron's billowing out behind him, his face furious.

"Lupin!" Ron shouted, the relief in his shaking voice, and the man streaked past him, spraying fire at three corpses that were rounding on Hermione and Harry feet away. 

"I'll hold them off," bellowed Remus Lupin, his voice more desperate and tired than Harry had heard it in a long time. "You three, get out of here, now!"

Ron and Hermione tore towards Harry, who's hair was now smouldering slightly from his own spell. They seized him by an arm each, and Hermione nodded at Ron, as fire streaked past them, emitted from Lupin's wand.

"Wait!" Harry yelled, shaking free of the other two, his eyes on Lupin. "We can't leave him!"

Something in what Lupin had yelled, the way had had volunteered to hold off the enemy, had hit a note somewhere deep in Harry's memory that he could not ignore

"_Lily, just go, take Harry and go, I'll hold him off…"_

"Harry, come on, Lupin knows what he's doing, once we leave, they'll go!"

Harry was not listening to Hermione's words, nor reason. Three of the walking dead were now surrounding Lupin, and he blasted them back with ease, and six more lumbered up behind him, arms outstretched.

"Professor behind you!" Harry yelled, brandishing his wand, though he was now to far away to do anything of real use.

"Harry, go, now!" Lupin bellowed back amidst his fighting. "Quickly!"

Harry opened his mouth the shout back, but found himself seized under either arm again by Ron and Hermione. Before he had time to break free again, his body was being compressed, as though squeezed though a tube way to small for it, and everything went totally, infuriatingly black.


	3. Chapter Three: The Waiting Game

Breath flew back into Harry's lungs, and in the midst of the blackness, somehow he hit solid, grassy ground, feeling two bodies, his trunk, and Hedwig's cage fall beside him.

He was on his feet again so fast that if asked, he would not remember getting up at all, and rounded on the other two.

"What the hell do you do that for? Didn't I say I wasn't leaving?"

Ron and Hermione picked themselves up, Ron pulling Hermione to her feet, and started back at him, Ron in defiance, Hermione in slight fear. 

"It would have been worse if we'd stayed!" Ron snapped back. "In case you didn't notice, those things were after _you!_"

Harry opened his mouth furiously to retort, all too aware of how right Ron was. Even so, it did not ease his whirring mind; they had left him, Lupin, back there with those things, Harry, admittedly, having met them twice now, had very little knowledge of inferi. Did they know that Lupin was not Harry? Would they really call off their attack now he was no longer in their midst? If Voldermort was controlling them, where was he? Surely he could not be in Little Whining, crouched somewhere out of sight behind a bush with a wand, waving it around and making his puppets of death dance like an overgrown child. The thought was both amusing and repulsive, and Harry shoved it from his mind firmly, as he came up with a suitable retort for Ron.

"We still shouldn't have left him, how do we know those things won't just kill him for the hell of it? Voldermort's never been one for caring who he murders now, has he?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione cut across him for the second time that morning.

"Harry, she said earnestly, as though willing him to become calm and think sensibly, "Lupin's a capable wizard, he knows what he's doing, he's in the Order. He can handle himself."

"There were hundreds of them, Hermione!" Harry snapped back, as Hermione jumped slightly and Ron put an arm around her. "He might be good, but no one's that good!"

"Well there's no point arguing about this now, is there? We're out of the way, and it'll be a lot better for Lupin that we are I can tell you!" Catching the sudden, cold empty look on Harry's face, that of a man both troubled and beaten, Ron added in slightly gentler tones "He'll be alright mate. It's Lupin. He always is."

Harry looked up slowly. "Like my father was."

He turned his back on them then, and set of walking, not knowing where he was going, not knowing even, he realised as soon as he'd set off, where he was. As soon as he was out of sight of Ron and Hermione, he stopped and looked around, realising with an odd jolt in his stomach that they were at The Burrow, in the large back yard, and that had just emerged from a small patch of trees. The Burrow itself stood before him, just as tall and crooked and magical as he remembered it. There were no lights on inside, but he knew it couldn't be long now before its inhabitants were up and about, and they would be discovered, and Mrs Weasley would be livid.

Harry's heart gave a small, welcome flutter in the midst of all the chaos and turmoil from which he had just emerged as her realised that Ginny was inside, sound asleep now most likely, unaware that he was here, so close to her yet, in many ways so far away.

Pushing aside then the thought; he could not let himself be drawn in by her Harry turned around to see to see Ron and Hermione making their gradual way towards him. Hermione was still eyeing him carefully, as though expecting him to explode again, Ron was not looking at him at all and instead was pointedly avoiding doing so, and kicked a passing gnome to give himself something to do. The gnome squealed and swore as it scampered away, and an uneasy silence fell between them.

It was Harry that broke it, a few moments later, unable to bear it any longer.

"Does… does your mum know you came to get me?" he said to Ron.

"Not exactly," Ron replied, relieved that Harry was speaking. "We… erm, sort of left without telling them."

"Then how did Lupin-"

"He must have seen us," said Hermione, more to herself than to the others, "He must have seen us leaving."

Ron aimed a kick at a second gnome that had charged at him in the hope of avenging to indignity that had been inflicted on its fellow.

"It was Hermione's idea to go and fetch you," he said, bending down and seizing the gnome by its ear as it kicked and shouted at him ("_gerrof me!")_ and throwing it over the fence. It flew ten feet into the air, and landed at the other side of the fence with a pitiful thump. "Mum told us to wait – Lupin and Tonks were meant to be going to fetch you on your birthday, but Hermione said that if we left you, you'd try to make a break for it by yourself. Mum was having none of that, said you'd learnt your lesson, but-"

"Hermione was right," Harry finished, slightly shamefully, only now guilt settling on his like a dark cloud, replacing the anger inside him. He did not know which he preferred. He cast around quickly for a change of subject. "Is everyone here?"

"Pretty much," said Ron. "Most of the Order that we know, it's not safe to use Grimmauld Place, so we've got this place as secure it can possibly be. The charm stops when we leave the confines, sort of like that charm that was on your Muggle, house, but erm, not as good," he admitted, edgily.

"But we're good now, right?" Harry added, suddenly alert and looking about him, as though expecting a stray inferi to jump out and try to throttle him. "We're in the confines."

"Yes, yes, the charm stops at the fence," said Hermione, slightly impatient at his childlike enquiry.

"Even so, couldn't hurt to get inside before Mum and the others wake up," added Ron, his expression suddenly anxious.

Harry smiled half heartedly, Ron's comment bringing his thoughts back to the first time he had arrived at The Burrow, in secret in the early hours of the morning, that time along with Ron's older twin brothers Fred and George.

"Come on, quick," Ron added, seizing Harry and Hermione by the sleeve and pulling the in the general direction of the house, "Before Luna gets up. She'll be looking for Wild Russian Floorboard Crawlers again no doubt."

Harry had half opened his mouth the state that he would much rather wait here in the garden for Lupin, and face Mrs Weasley's wrath knowing that his mentor was safe, but changed tack at Ron's last words.

"Luna's here?"

"Erm, yes," said Hermione, and Harry was surprised to see her face was surprisingly grim. "Her… her father went missing a few days after we finished school. No one's seen or heard from him since. When Ron's mum heard, she insisted she come here."

Harry closed his eyes at the news. It was really happening, people were disappearing again. And Luna, who had already lost her mother…, looking at the prospect of never seeing her father again. Harry knew the feeling of being orphaned all too well and would not wish it on anyone, let alone a close friend. His feeling of guilt intensified, and taking one last look behind him at the empty lawn, turned back to Ron

"I want to see her."

Hermione cast Ron an anxious look, and Harry could tell that he was taking this news exactly as she had feared he would.

"Harry, this isn't your fault, it's Voldermort, not-"

"Let's just go inside shall we?" said Harry pointedly, trying to keep the anger, not at Hermione, but at himself from his voice.

She nodded quickly, and three of them made their way towards the entrance to the burrow, Harry casting his gaze behind him every few paces in the hope that Lupin might materialise from the trees.

The Burrow's kitchen was just how Harry remembered it, chaotic and small and homely. Pots that Harry assumed were from the previous night's meal washed themselves in the sink, and Ron's owl Pigwidgeon sat contently on a shelf, his tiny head beneath a feathery wing.

The Weasley's clock, unlike any clock Harry had ever seen before sat above the stove, each of it's twelve hands engraved with the name of a Weasley, and each still, Harry saw with a great jolt in his stomach, pointing at _"mortal peril"._

Harry had almost walked past the clock before what he had actually seem registered in his mind, and he stopped, taking a quick step back, to look at the clock again.

_Twelve hands._

Harry scrutinised it, searching for the owner of the additional hand, and his heart gave a flutter similar indeed to the one it had performed at the thought of seeing Ginny, as his eyes fell on the new hand, engraved with delicate, swirling hand, between the hands of Ginny and Ron; _"Harry Potter"._

"Mum thought it might be a nice birthday present," said Ron, "Seen as you'd be leaving the Muggles and all."

Harry nodded, not taking his eyes from the clock. His chest was suddenly extremely tight, and he did not trust himself to speak. After a few long moments of staring at his new hand, Harry walked silently on through the kitchen, followed by the other two.

On reaching the landing, Hermione said quietly "We should go to bed for a few hours, I think we could all do with the sleep."

Harry nodded, not really in response to anything. He had just realised how tired he actually was, but the idea of sleep now, what with Lupin still unreturned to them and out there, facing the inferi quite alone, and Luna, here and no doubt mourning the disappearance of her father, both of these things down to his, was quite impossible.

Nevertheless, Harry followed Ron and Hermione up the rickety staircase. Hermione bade them a quiet goodnight on her flaw, pausing for a brief second to cast Harry a look that said without words that there was nothing whatsoever he could do, before slipping inside the room in which, Harry tried not to think about, Ginny (and now Luna) was sleeping only a few meters away. He and Ron continued the journey up to Ron's room at the topmost floor of the house, bar the attic, and Ron collapsed promptly on his bed on entering, staring up at his ceiling, eyes open.

Harry picked his was across the mess on Ron's floor; Chudley Cannon's magazine, odd socks, repaired spell books, rolls of Spellotape, and sat down on the edge of his camp bed, that had already been assembled for him, and rested his head on his chin, deep in thought.

Again, for the second time that morning, a silence fell, both boys in quiet thought, though this time it was a tired, dull silence, of tired dull minds, and neither broke it.

Pigwidgeon had followed them up, and was perched quite contently on the post of Ron's bed, Harry suspected he had spent a great deal of the last day whizzing around and annoying everyone in general.

So much had changed since the first time Harry had entered this house, and it was almost painful to recall. Twelve years old and innocent, already having faced Voldermort once (once that he could recall anyway), Harry had been a child, fresh faced and wide eyed, scarred still, yes, but less so, and ready to head out into the mad, wonderful world into which he had been plunged. Now, seventeen almost, still nothing more really than a child, Harry felt a weight on his shoulders like he had never experienced before, as his mind, desperate as Harry was to keep it from Lupin, strayed to the Horocruxes and his task.

It was, and would stay, Harry was still determined, his task. Ron and Hermione had pledged allegiance to Harry to the bitter and, and though he had been humbled, overcome and touched by such and act, Harry would not accept it. Voldermort wanted him, and him alone, he was not going to put his friends in danger, not going to hand over any more innocent lives to The Dark Lord.

Harry had spend many a sleepless night back a Privet Drive pondering the task ahead of him, and when he was not dwelling upon it in his waking hours, he was seeing it in his sleep, the fake Horocruxes he still had at the bottom of his trunk reminding him that he, and he alone had to kill You-Know-Who.

"_Neither can live while the other survives."_

Those words, like the name of Severus Snape, haunted him, and it had occurred to Harry that he should be more petrified. But then again, he had a year to get used to them, get used to what they meant, come to terms with it, and though the prospect of his death was very real one to him still, Harry's mind had come to rest finally, and almost exclusively, desperately blocking out the thought of leaving Ron and Hermione, Ginny, everyone, on destroying Voldermort. Before he destroyed them all.

It was a good half an hour later before Ron's resounding snores echoed around the tip of a bedroom, and Harry was still very much awake, listening, though he had tried and failed all that time not to with for that telltale crack like a whip that still had not come.

He could not exclude his friends anymore, not then they were here (or in Lupin's case, not here) and facing him. The very fact that Lupin had been left behind now had brought something very real home to Harry, a dilemma that made him sick to consider; how could he keep them all safe and destroy Voldermort? He was not God; he was not even an adult for three more long days. And he was, though he would never admit it, even to himself, afraid of losing them all.

Where was Mr Lovegood? And how on earth could her ever make this right with Luna. Would she blame him? Demand an explanation? Abandon her usual misty exterior and cry?

And, still, he wondered, desperately wondered, where Lupin was now. What was taking him so long? It had been roughly an hour since they had left him fighting alone Privet Drive. Why had he not come back yet? He had had plenty of time to keep the inferi at bay while he apparated. Harry had seen Remus Lupin in action many times; he never left anything to chance. Harry had learnt most of what he knew from him, him and Sirius.

The thought of his godfather brought the prickle of tears to Harry's tired eyes, and he swallowed them back angrily. If Lupin died – Harry could hardly bear to think about it, but if he did, it was his fault, just like Sirius, just like Cedric, just like Dumbledore. One more death of a loved one to add the extensive list of losses for one as young as he was.

Images of Lupin surrounded, perhaps even yelling out for help that was not coming, filled Harry's mind; cold clammy hands reached out for him, empty hollow eye sockets loomed around him, mindless zombies making swipes at him… pinning him down…

_What were they doing to him now?_

"He's not dead," Harry whispered, allowing himself to lie backwards on his makeshift bed to stare at Ron's bright orange ceiling. "He's not. He can't be."

Repeating the words over and over Harry knew, logically, would not make am shred of difference to Lupin's fate, but he could not take it, laying there helplessly, the only other sound that of Ron's snoring; chanting made his feel like he were doing something.

Harry was so engaged in his private ritual that he only heard the knock at Ron's door the second time, as Ron himself merely grunted in his sleep and rolled over. It was followed by a girl's voice a moment later, a voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end and his heart race unexplainably.

"Ron, Mum says it's about time you were up," called Ginny Weasley through the closed door. "And she also says, could you please go down into the kitchen this instant, and explain what an earth Harry's trunk and Hedwig are doing in the garden."


End file.
